Yesterday I chickened out of an MRI - and I'm proud

Too often, when we are faced with a situation or a choice, we take the easy path, the ‘do nothing’ path, irrespective of whether it’s the right one.

Yesterday I chickened out of an MRI. This morning, even though I should be working on my Alone Rangers article for next week (the seventh in my series about the qualities of a good human), I felt an overwhelming urge to write about yesterday’s experience instead. Initially, I thought it was a new experience, but after sleeping on it, I realised it was actually a throwback to how I might have previously approached something new. I decided to open my computer and write a second post for the week.

Recently, I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis in my right shoulder, which the doctor laughingly said was due to ‘overuse’. I responded, ‘You mean old age, ’ and he meekly agreed. The bone spurs are quite painful if I move my arm at certain angles and elevations. Unfortunately, it means I can’t swim laps, which is my regular cardio exercise a few mornings a week, and I am having to modify my Pilates practice heavily.

I was sent off for X-rays and an ultrasound, then saw the orthopedic surgeon at the hospital, who mooted a couple of different treatments, including surgery, but asked me to go and have an MRI so he could get a clear picture of the bone spurs that are causing the pain.

I called my local scan place and booked in. On the phone, the receptionist noted they have a ‘small’ MRI machine and asked if I was claustrophobic. My response was ‘not really’, although in honesty, I probably wasn’t honest, because I don’t think I’ve really been placed in situations of close confines to know how I’d react, and I haven’t had an MRI before.

I arrived at the allotted time yesterday, completed all the paperwork, removed my earrings (as they contain metal), and changed into a hospital gown.

I’m sure many will be familiar with an MRI machine, a great big piece of equipment with a tube in the middle that you slide into on a bed. I’ve had CAT scans in the past, so I probably equated this new experience with those. The staff member was lovely, but asked again about claustrophobia and again mentioned, ‘This is the smallest machine in the region.’

She lay me down on the sliding bed, and set me up, a frame-thing on my shoulder, a chock on the other side to tilt me fractionally towards the dodgy shoulder. She gave me earplugs and explained the machine is really noisy, and then gave me headphones, saying she’d turn on the radio to give me something to listen to. I also was not to cross my legs or arms as they’d ‘warm up’. And because I have ‘wide shoulders’ (from all that swimming), I’d need to shift myself over to the side once I was in the MRI.

I asked how long the scan would take, and she replied 23 minutes. But if I moved too much, she’d have to restart parts of the scan so that it could be longer.

By now, I was doing mental geometry. My head was close to the opening of the tube; there’s an opening at the other end, but my whole body would be inside. The technician then pointed out that my face would be almost touching the ceiling of the tube, again noting that this is the smallest MRI they have. And ‘would I like a blindfold?’. I said no. She handed me a button on a cord to press in case of emergencies.

She put the headphones on, and combined with the earplugs, I pretty much couldn’t hear anything.

That’s when I had a massive wave of anxiety wash over me. I was going to be almost deaf, in a metal tube barely larger in diameter than me, with my face a couple of inches away from the inside of the tube, with deafening noises, for 23 minutes.

So I bailed. I asked to stop and explained to the technician that I was feeling incredibly anxious and did not think I could proceed.

She was utterly fantastic and empathetic. She told me that this was normal, that she’d had three people in one day with the same emotion that week, and that their company has a much larger MRI facility in another office nearby that she could book me into. At no time did she make me feel guilty, inadequate, or cowardly. I could have hugged her for an hour.

Now I’ve had a sleep and put some distance between the event. Now, I’ve realised that there are moments in my life where anxiety about a decision left me passive, and I went with the flow - I allowed myself to be slid into the machine, and suffered the consequences. I didn’t have the tools to say ‘no’.

Too often, when we are faced with a situation or a choice, we take the easy path, the ‘do nothing’ path, irrespective of whether it’s the right one. We might lack the confidence to speak up, or we don’t respect the anxiety or feel capable of stepping back from that emotion, giving it a label, and taking a considered decision.

Yesterday, I recognised my emotions, stepped back from them, and realised that mentally I was not well-equipped for the impending experience, so I chose to stop.

I’m proud I said no and chickened out.

We’ll see how we go next Tuesday in the ‘much bigger machine’!